Death of a Poison Pen

“Don’t ask me, Sherlock,” Jimmy was beginning, when Hamish disappeared under the desk.

Jimmy swung round just as Detective Chief Inspector Blair lumbered into the room. “I’m off to Braikie,” he said, “and you’re coming with me.”

“Just finishing up here,” said Jimmy. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Get a move on, then.”

“I thought you didn’t work on Sundays.”

“The boss is terrified by all the press coverage and says we’ve got to work until we find someone. Hurry up!”

Jimmy nodded. He waited until Blair had left and then said, “You can come out now.”

Hamish groaned as he unwound his lanky form from under Jimmy’s desk. “I’d better wait until I’m sure the old scunner is on the road. Then I’ll get to Lochdubh fast in case he decides to drop in.”

“Don’t forget you owe me a whisky.”

¦

At the Highland Times, Elspeth was starting to read through a pile of national Sunday papers. She turned to the Sunday edition of the Bugle, wondering if they had used her colour piece. She flipped over the pages and then she found it. She stared at the large byline as if she could not believe her eyes. “Pat Mallone,” it said.

She remembered Pat telling her he had taken the liberty of sending off her article. He must have erased her name and put his own on, and once the article had gone he had put her name back on it.

Sam was having a day off and had gone to visit relatives in Alness. She picked up the phone and dialled the Bugle and asked to speak to the editor of the Sunday paper, only to be told he was never at work on Sundays. Elspeth then got through to the news desk of the daily and told them that the article featured under Pat Mallone’s byline was actually her own and her editor could confirm it. “Don’t worry,” said a voice from the news desk. “We’ll let him know.”

“What was that about?” a colleague asked when he put the phone down.

“Oh, some girl up in the Highlands claiming another reporter stole her article,” he said. “Nothing interesting.” Then he promptly forgot about it.

Still thirsting for blood, Elspeth went out to look for Pat Mallone.

¦

At that moment, Pat Mallone was sitting in the Italian restaurant with Jenny. Jenny had been telling him about her dreadful experience after the church service when she had been waylaid by the Currie sisters and given a lecture on sin.

Pat then whipped out a copy of the Sunday Bugle. “I’ve been saving this to show you,” he said. He proudly opened the page at ‘his’ article.

“How wonderful!” cried Jenny. “May I read it?”

“Go ahead.”

As Jenny was reading the article, Pat suddenly saw Elspeth’s face peering in at the restaurant window. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Pat shot out of the restaurant door. Jenny could see Elspeth shouting at him and Pat shrugging his shoulders. She turned back to the article. It was very good. She had just been beginning to think that Pat was not a very dedicated reporter. But this article proved not only that he was a dedicated reporter but that he could write as well. Oblivious to the angry voices outside the restaurant, she fell into a rosy dream where Pat would become a famous writer.

He was just accepting the Booker Prize when the real-life Pat came back into the restaurant. Jenny blinked the rosy dream away. “What was all that about?” she asked. “Elspeth seemed angry.”

“Oh, office squabble.” He sat down and smiled at her. “To tell you the truth, I think Elspeth’s jealous of you.”

“I think Elspeth’s keen on Hamish Macbeth.”

He took her hand. “You’re so pretty, all the women are jealous of you.”

Jenny looked into his blue eyes and caught a flicker of something at the back of them, something like fear.

“Did she threaten you?”

“That wee girl! Don’t make me laugh.”

“You’re afraid of something, aren’t you?”

Pat thought quickly. He planned to go south and try his luck, and he wanted free lodgings.

He gave a shrug. “You’re a sharp girl. I think Elspeth knows that the colour piece might get me a job on a national. She knows my ambitions. I need this month’s notice to look around. I’m frightened she puts in a bad word about me with Sam and he might tell me to leave this week.”

Privately, Jenny, although she had originally sympathised with him, thought there was surely little more he could do to make Sam even more furious with him.

“If you could dig up a really good story about this murder,” she said, “then Sam might relent.”

“I’ve tried to best I can,” he said moodily. Then those blue eyes of his looked at her speculatively. “But if you could get close to Hamish Macbeth, he might let something drop. Could you do that for me?”

“Hamish Macbeth is not interested in me!”

“But you haven’t really tried,” wheedled Pat. “I feel you and I are destined to be together for a long time.”

Jenny gave a little gasp. “Do you mean marriage? You and me?”

Oh, well, why not? thought Pat. He could always wriggle out of it later. “I’ll get you the ring as soon as I get a job on a national,” he said. “Gosh, I feel like ordering champagne, but I haven’t enough with me.”

“I’ll order it,” said Jenny, flushed and happy. She made to raise an arm to call Willie, the waiter, but Pat stopped her. He had visions of Willie asking what the celebration was and Jenny telling him.

“Let’s keep it our secret for the moment,” he said. “It would be difficult for you to get anything out of Hamish Macbeth if he knew you were engaged to me.”

“All right,” said Jenny. Then she gave him a wicked grin. “But I know a better way to celebrate. Let’s go back to your place.”

“Think of your reputation! My landlady would have it all over the village and the Currie sisters would be making you spend every day with the minister to cleanse your soul.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

When they walked outside, it was a cold moonlit night. “A braw bricht nicht, the nicht,” said Jenny, although all her ch’s were pronounced as k’s and came out as ‘a braw brick nick, the nick.’

“Let’s go for a stroll.”

“It’s early yet. Tell you what, run along to that police station and get to work on Hamish.” He gave her a little shove. “It’s our future you’re working for.”

But he did not kiss her good night. Jenny walked off forlornly in the direction of the police station. She had received her first proposal of marriage, and yet it all felt wrong. He’s just using you, screamed a voice in her head.

¦

Hamish Macbeth opened the kitchen door and looked down at the forlorn figure of Jenny.

“What?” he demanded.

“I just came to say hullo.”

“Oh, come in. Don’t be long. I want to get to bed early. Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?”

“Nothing for me.”

Jenny sat down at the kitchen table and shrugged off her anorak. Under it, she was wearing a shimmering grey dress with a low neckline and long filmy sleeves to hide the plaster cast on one arm.

“Been out somewhere grand?” asked Hamish.

“Just the local restaurant.”

“With Pat Mallone?”

“Yes.”

“I hear he’s been fired.”